


I Do (But I Doughn't)

by Bluebluebaby



Series: Bake It 'Til You Make It [2]
Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-09-25 15:12:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9825983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebluebaby/pseuds/Bluebluebaby
Summary: Follow-up to I Want You, I Love You, I Knead You.In which Patsy and Delia tie the knot.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a tumblr prompt about Pats proposing a while back, and I think one or two of you asked me to continue it, so here we are! we need as much queer fluff as possible in the universe right now, so i'll do my best to crank this one out. Probably only gonna be about 5 chapters or so.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (for the non-tumblrs out there, the proposal) 
> 
> prompt: "Patsy proposing but Delia not realizing it at first? Could be AU, whatever you feel :D"

“Delia,” Patsy wrings her hands nervously, inhaling deeply through her nostrils as if to breath in conviction. “There’s something I need to say to you.” 

By all accounts, it had been a perfect evening. Dinner, dancing, décolletage… Delia has never had a night so close to the Hollywood ideal. The only thing that could make it more perfect is if a fairy godmother literally appeared to grant Mary Cynthia the power of speech and turn her old scooter into a Rolls Royce. 

But Patsy looks a bit like she’s about to vomit all over the bed, where she’s suddenly interrupted their (rather promising) snogfest. 

“Go ahead, then,” Delia replies, still a bit dazed from the rush of blood to her skin. 

“When you go away to film again, I don’t just want to be your girlfriend left behind.” 

She looks at her pleadingly, before standing and pacing in front of the bed. 

“I hadn’t exactly planned to do this right now, but, oh fuck.” 

With that, she exits the room purposefully, leaving Delia thoroughly confused and more than a little bit angry. 

“Are you honestly dumping me right now? After maybe the best date of my life? I’ve been on a lot of dates, Patience Mount, I have very high standards.” 

Now Delia is up and charging after Patsy. 

(After all, they live together. Where exactly is she going to leave to?) 

She’s just about to really lay into her when the redhead returns, knocking them both to the ground in the process. 

She offers Delia a hand up, and the brunette accepts skeptically. 

“Oh, god, Delia, no, I just, you need to stand you see, so I can kneel, that is how these things are done…” 

Patsy assumes the position and proffers a simple, elegant ring from her pocket. 

“I want to be left behind as your wife, Delia.” 

Oh. 

Well. 

“But you don’t believe in marriage, Patsy.” 

“I didn’t believe in many things before I met you. And truth be told, I’m not entirely sold on the institution, but I do know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I always prefer to have things in writing.” 

Delia nods. 

“That does make an unromantic sort of sense, I suppose.” 

Patsy bites her lip, worriedly. 

“Delia?” 

“Yes?”

“You still haven’t actually answered my question.” 

“You never actually posed one. You made a statement.” 

Patsy rolls her eyes, arms beginning to tremble from their frozen pose. 

“Delia Busby, would you do me the greatest honor I’ve ever known and take my hand in lawfully wedded matrimony?” 

Delia tackles her to the ground in a puppy-like kiss before responding. 

“Abso-fucking-lutely!” 

They don’t need words for a good while after that, but a thought comes to Delia as she regains her faculties.

“Pats?”

“Mmmm, yes, Deels?” 

“You do know that my mother will insist on planning every detail of the ceremony.” 

“And yet, I still want to marry you. It must really be love, huh?” 


	2. Prologue

This was a bad idea. 

 

This was a very bad idea. 

 

This was a very bad, horrid, ill-advised, impetuous, foolish, naive, impractical, altogether stupid idea. 

 

Proposing had seemed very good and well and  _ lovely  _ in the confines of their flat, but the closer they get to Pembrokeshire (and by extension, Mrs. Busby), the closer Patsy gets to vomiting. 

 

Delia insists that they’ll be bringing  _ good  _ news. 

 

“She’s wanted me to get married since I turned eighteen, Pats.”

 

She grins wryly. 

 

“And now I won’t be living in sin anymore.” 

 

Patsy frowns. 

 

“Yes, I suppose if she kills me then we’ll never have sex again.” 

 

Delia grips the hand not on the steering wheel and lowers her voice, imploringly. 

 

“I don’t know what it will take for you to believe this, but mam  _ likes you _ . Don’t you remember her birthday? And how pleased she was with her Christmas gift?” 

 

“Just because I have impeccable taste in ceramics doesn’t mean she wants me part of her family for as long as we both shall live.” 

 

Delia shrugs her shoulders in resignation. 

 

“Dad says he wasn’t entirely certain she fancied him until they’d been married a year. She’s not exactly an open book.” 

 

“Except with you, Deels.” 

 

“Exactly. She’s devoted all her attention and fussing to me over the past quarter century, and left none for anyone else.” 

 

Patsy sets her mouth in a grim line, checking her watch to make sure they’re still due to arrive on-time. 

“I still don’t understand why you couldn’t just have telephoned ahead of time. Given her a bit more warning than ‘we thought we were a bit overdue for a visit’.” 

 

Delia winces, both at Patsys (deserved) ire and her mother’s insistence on in-person revelations. 

 

“Well, it’s a bit late for that now,” she laughs nervously, as Patsy turns up the drive to the cottage. 

 

_

 

Mrs. Busby is out the door and greeting them before Patsy can even shut off the engine (although, in her defense, figuring out the mechanics of Phyllis’s geriatric station wagon did take a minute). 

 

“Cariad! I’m so glad you’re home!” 

 

Delia grunts out a muffled “I missed you too, Mam” through the thick wool of Mrs. Busby’s jumper. 

 

“Patsy.” 

 

She nods, extending a manicured hand for the redhead to shake. 

 

“Always a pleasure, Mrs. Busby.” 

 

Delia looks warily between the two, frozen in apprehension, before her mother breaks the ice, guiding the younger women over the threshold and into the parlor. 

 

“You’re just in time for tea. Go ahead, have a seat and I’ll fetch your father.” 

 

“See? Your head’s still intact,” Delia whispers, curling up next to Patsy on the loveseat. 

 

Patsy narrows her eyes. 

 

“Never. Having. Sex. Again.” 

 

“You wound me, Patience!” 

 

Her teasing is interrupted by the clumsy entrance of Mr. Busby into the room. He always seems a bit disoriented, which Patsy supposes makes him a good match for the overzealous guidance of Delia’s mother. 

 

“Delia! Patsy! Lovely to see you, as always.” 

 

He beams, genuinely, and plops down across from them. 

 

His wife follows, balancing a tray stacked precariously with kettle and confectionery. 

 

“First, tea, and then you can let whatever cat it is out of the bag, Delia.” 

 

But as Delia lifts her cup to her mouth, the glint of the diamond atop her hand gives it away.

The clatter of porcelain startles them all as Mrs. Busby summarily ignores the growing puddle of earl gray on her white carpet. 

 

“ _ Delia Alice Busby.  _ You let her beat you to it? You know I’ve been saving Gran’s ring for you for ten years!” 

 

Of all the reactions Patsy had anticipated… this had not registered at all. She looks at Delia in confusion, who in turn opens her mouth like a fish out of water in response to her mother. 

 

She eventually manages a few words. 

 

“Well, it’s not like I expected  _ her  _ to be the one to propose!” 

 

Patsy shrugs. 

 

“It’s true, Mrs. Busby, I have, historically, been a vocal opponent of matrimony. But your daughter constantly makes me surprise myself. And I would very much like to spend the rest of my life in a state of constant surprise.” 

 

Delia turns to her, eyes brimming with gratitude. 

 

Patsy clears her throat, before continuing. 

 

“If it helps matters, I did give Delia my mother’s ring, which she in turn got as an heirloom from my grandmother. It’s just as important to me as your ring is to her.” 

 

Mrs. Busby uncrosses her arms as her husband kneels on the floor beside her, spot-treating the stain. 

 

“I do hope you would consider wearing Delia’s ring as well. Even if she insists on making you do all the scary bits.” 

 

Patsy arches a brow at Delia before replying to her future mother-in-law. 

 

“Nothing would make me more honoured.” 

 

_

 

Mrs. Busby wastes no time in beginning planning, pulling out a stack of binders from seemingly nowhere. 

 

“Now, have you considered whether you’d like the ceremony here or in London, Cariad? You can’t beat the cost or the scenery here, but I know you and your television people don’t like to travel out to the country so much, do you?” 

 

Delia sighs. 

 

“Mam. It’s been less than a week since Patsy proposed. You are the first person we’ve told. We haven’t even decided  _ if  _ we’ll have a ceremony, much less  _ where.”  _

 

Mrs. Busby gasps and brings a hand to her chest. 

 

“Honestly, Delia, sometimes I think you say these things to terrify me on purpose. Could you at least set a date, then? It will give me my time frame, at a minimum.” 

 

Patsy grins, looking at her rattled fiancee. 

 

“My only demand was that we get hitched before Phyllis and Delia head out to film series two next spring. That leaves us with what- nine months?” 

 

Mrs. Busby nods, calculating just how much time she might manage to corral from the two young women between now and then. 

 

“I suppose I ought just thank my lucky stars it’s not a shotgun wedding, hmmm?” 

 

“Actually,” Delia deadpans, “ there’s something else we need to tell you.” 

 

Patsy interrupts her before Mrs. Busby can get in a word. 

 

“That’s not even funny, Deels! You can’t be setting up expectation like that!” 

 

Mrs. Busby laughs. 

 

“Oh, Patsy, now that you’re family, I can officially beg you for grandchildren. Don’t think you’ll be getting off the hook so easy.” 

_

By the grace of god, they only stay the one night and make their way back to London by early Sunday afternoon. 

 

“Well, that was thoroughly exhausting,” Delia moans, flopping face first onto the mattress. 

 

(Sister Mary Cynthia takes the opportunity to knead her aching shoulders.)

 

Patsy smirks. 

 

“You were right, Deels, your mother isn’t so bad.” 

 

Delia grunts. 

 

“That’s just because you two got to pile onto me. She hasn’t heard that you don’t want to wear a dress yet. I’ll have my moment in the sun yet.” 

 

Patsy runs a cool hand under Delia’s shirt, along her spine. 

 

“Does she know how much you like seeing me in a suit?” 

 

Delia extricates her face from the pile of pillows to meet Patsy’s darkening gaze. 

 

“I think perhaps we should stop talking about my mother. And keep talking about you and suits.” 

 

“I like the way you think, Busby.” 

 

Delia grins. 

 

“You like everything about me.” 

 

Patsy shakes her head, pinning the petite brunette beneath her. 

 

“No, Deels, I  _ love  _ everything about you. Would you be so kind as to let me show you just how much?” 

  
Fortunately for them both, Delia is thoroughly sick of arguing by this point. 


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we all know this is fluff for fluff's sake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm a born and bred southerner so i can caricature it AS MUCH AS I WANT
> 
> (but also read Michael Twitty's work on Soul Food if you are not familiar with the food traditions of the american southeast)

Patsy wrinkles her nose as sunlight filters through the (suddenly, cruelly, without any sort of warning) open curtains. 

“Mmmmph.” 

“Good morning, beautiful,” Delia sing-songs, bending over to unlace her trainers. 

As Patsy’s eyes adjust to the light, she appraises the sweat glistening on Delia’s bare shoulders, the slight mugginess of June leaving it’s print on her skin. 

“Delia, I’m afraid I’ll have to inform your mother that Sunday school never quite took. The sabbath is meant to be a day of rest.” 

Delia grins, high on endorphins and cheeky as ever. 

“Are you saying you’d rather I spend Sundays in a church than with you?” 

Patsy shakes her head, her own smile growing to match the brunette’s. 

“No. I’m saying that I want you to spend Sunday in bed. With me.” 

“I think I need a shower first.” 

Patsy’s expression turns deadly serious, and her voice flatlines, low and solemn. 

“There’s no time. I can’t wait that long. Ten minutes and who knows what could happen to me?” 

Delia rolls her eyes. 

“You just like me when I’m all hot and sweaty.” 

Patsy shrugs, guilty as charged. 

“I’m washing these sheets today anyways. So make sure those clothes end up in the proper hamper.” 

_

Patsy may have had ulterior motives when she lured Delia back to bed. Namely, tricking her body into falling back asleep. Seven o’clock is far too early for being up and about on a weekend. Eventually, however, they both adjust to the reality that it is, in fact, daytime, and Patsy, for one, is fundamentally incapable of wasting away an entire day when chores need doing. 

“Have you finished the grocery list?” 

Delia nods against her chest, sighing deeply. 

“Meals prepped out thru Thursday, and enough flour for you to improve your ciabatta recipe twenty times over.” 

“I have to have enough to send Patrick, you know.” 

All of a sudden, Delia turns over unto her back, staring at the ceiling, eyes wide. 

“Pats,” she whispers, “I think we’ve become… boring.” 

“Oh, please,” Patsy quips, “nothing about the past hour was boring in the least.” 

But Delia remains distant, her hands rumpling the sheet absentmindedly. 

“Are you having regrets, Delia?” 

Delia shakes her head, despite the tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. Patsy sits up so that she might meet Delia’s blank stare, and soften it with her own compassionate one. 

“I’m not, I promise. I absolutely, beyond a doubt want to spend the rest of my life with you. I just… I worry that I might make you complacent, or that you’ll grow weary of me.” 

Patsy bites her lip, trying to summarize a decade of turmoil succinctly. 

“To me, boring is the biggest gift in the world. I never, once in a million years, thought I could ever get to the place where I was lying in of a Sunday morning, planning breakfast with the most beautiful woman in the world. Whose sweaty running shorts I will lovingly launder this afternoon, while she supervises the second proof of my cursed ciabatta loaves. I love every second I spend in your company, Delia Busby, so don’t let anything about me influence your decision.” 

 

Delia nods, still a bit choked up by her own anxieties. 

“We don’t have to get married before you leave for filming. I’m not that terribly jealous.” 

Delia grins. 

“Oh, you absolutely are. But it is tremendously flattering.” 

“I only threatened the one bloke on twitter. And he refused to take a hint.” 

Delia pulls her in close, kissing her hair. 

“That’s my girl.”   
_

Douglass is a formidable presence, to say the least. 

As a director, she’s opinionated, efficient, and commanding. But she’s good. 

(And surprisingly kind, as Delia found when a random Swiss man went off on her for “spreading perversion” on the hallowed airwaves of baking television.) 

Douglass is her surname, but at this point, it’s far too late for Delia to inquire as to her diminutive. And she understands the desire for a more gender-neutral professional title anyhow. 

“Ladies,” she addresses Delia and Phyllis ,”as you know, we’ve already begun researching locales for series two. Because of the success of your first round, the network has given us the go ahead to dream big, this time. We’ll be sending you to the states… specifically the South.” 

Delia and Phyllis share an equal parts excited and terrified look. 

“You mean, Deliverance and the Grand Ole Opry and such?” 

(Granted, Phyllis’s references are a bit dated. At least she didn’t say Birth of a Nation.)

“Less murder, ideally,” Douglass hums, not making eye contact as she reviews her notes, “but we do have plans to send you to a pig farm, and to learn to noodle.” 

“Patsy’s going to be mortified,” Delia whispers to Phyllis. 

“You can always say no, lass,” Phyllis reassures her. “But then again, Patsy won’t have to deal with all this mess, and you always were a bit of a better sport when it comes to messiness. No offence, of course,” she adds for good measure. 

“None taken. Do you suppose they’ll provide muck boots for us?” 

The rest of the meeting is largely detail oriented; specific dates and itineraries, prospective menus and restaurants for them to visit, transportation arrangements from civilization into places where they eat squirrel. 

By the time they leave, Delia has had enough time to adjust to the idea that she’s almost sold on the experience, if only for the story it will make. Phyllis pulls her aside before they part ways. 

“Have you and Patsy picked a date yet? I’ve got everything in line to be ordained by the new year. Although I find it hard to believe that you would ask me to officiate when Trixie and Barbara are such big fans of yours.” 

“We’re split between the first and second week of April right now, but you will be the first to know of the final schedule. Well, second, I suppose. And I think that Trix and Babs might quite like a night out without being the center of the spectacle, though we won’t be permitting any cameras, of course.” 

“Not even an instagram post? I’ve built quite the following with my #gardenofgratitude photos.” 

Delia chuckles at Phyllis’s earnestness. 

“I think for you, we might be able to make an exception for an at-the-altar selfie, so long as you don’t photobomb the kiss.”

“Deal,” Phyllis shakes her hand. “I’ll see you in two weeks, Delia. If you do find out what chitlins are, please don’t tell me. I’m a vegetarian for a reason.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh i have no idea where this is going or if any of this is in character anymore but writing this makes me feel more happy and hopeful so there ya have it


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia has an unexpected conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay this is ahead of schedule BUT PATSY AND DELIA FUCKING KISSED and i am too happy/excited to sleep lolol so i wrote some more fluff

“You’d think if you were going to America, they could at least send you to Hollywood. Or New York.” 

 

Patsy frowns as she lights her cigarette. 

 

(She’s promised to quit before the wedding, but Delia supposes her news qualifies as extenuating circumstances.) 

 

“Douglass wants to make us as uncomfortable as possible,” Delia grunts. “Makes for good telly, at least.” 

 

“Well, she’ll have me to answer to if you don’t return from the depths of Appalachia. And I don’t care how intimidating you say she is- she’s got nothing on me.” 

 

Delia raises an eyebrow. 

 

“I happen to have first hand knowledge that would contradict that claim.” 

 

Patsy squints, daring Delia to challenge her assertion. 

 

“Is. That. So?”

 

“I seem to recall one Patience Mount bouncing one Busby infant on her knee and playing paddycake for half an hour on one Christmas holiday.” 

 

Patsy folds her arms and sets her jaw determinedly. 

 

“No one would ever believe you, Busby. Your word against mine.” 

 

At last, they can’t continue the charade any longer and both dissolve into giggles.

“Honestly though, Delia, if you don’t want to go, don’t go. I’m sure if you and Phyllis banded together they’d be powerless to stop you.” 

 

Delia sighs, ambivalent. 

 

“Truth be told, I was more concerned about you worrying over me than anything else.” 

 

Patsy looks equal parts touched and annoyed.

 

“I know you can handle yourself, Delia, even if I don’t trust Americans. Aside from Gillian Anderson, and she only half-counts anyhow.” 

 

“It is a long trip though, and the time difference might make things difficult.” 

 

Patsy shakes her head sternly. 

 

“Delia, go, or don’t go, but don’t act like we won’t do every single thing possible to manage the time apart. We have FaceTime, and I rarely go to bed on time as is. Hell, people managed with only telegrams between them, and before that with nothing but hope.” 

 

Delia smiles wanly. 

 

“Yes, but did they love each other as much as I love you?” 

 

Patsy smiles, lopsided and utterly charmed. 

 

(Some things haven’t changed from the moment they’ve met.) 

 

“Some of them must have come close, don’t you think? Besides, I like to think we’ve gotten rather good at reunions.” 

 

Delia shrugs. 

 

“I suppose you do know how to welcome a girl home.”

Mary Cynthia chirps in agreement, rubbing against Delia’s ankle.

 

“Do you reckon she’d agree to go with me?” 

 

Patsy scoops up the grey cat, holding her to her chest. 

 

“Don’t even think about it.” 

_

 

Delia’s in much better spirits when she and Phyllis have their next meeting at the network. She’s always in better shape to face challenges when she knows what they entail- that was an upside to  _ GBBF, _ one always knew exactly what was expected. 

 

There’s a pep in her step as she exits onto the pavement, until she quite literally collides with Trixie and Barbara. They’re too engrossed in a disagreement to even register her presence at first. 

 

“... I just think that hiding it does more harm than being open with the producers about our situation.”  Barbara attempts a soothing tone, reaching a hand tenderly towards Trixie’s forearm before being swatted away by a french manicure.

 

“How is professionalism a deterrent to  _ professionalism,”  _ Trixie hisses. 

 

“But wouldn’t the fallout from being ‘discovered,’ as it were, far exceed any discomfort in telling everyone now?” 

 

Delia clears her throat awkwardly, half torn between making herself known or making a run for it. 

 

“Delia!” Barbara looks a little shocked and quite relieved to see her. 

 

Trixie sighs dramatically. 

 

“I suppose we lucked out, didn’t we Babs, she already knows we’re fucking.” 

 

Hurt flashes across Barbara’s face, and her nostrils flare as she inhales. 

 

“You’re only saying that because you’re upset, Trixie. But it’s not fair to take it out on me.” 

 

“I should go-” Delia starts, before Trixie pushes an arm in front of her, eyes never leaving Barbara’s face. 

 

“Stay. You know both sides of this mess. What do you think we should do?” 

 

“I’m assuming you’re referring as to whether or not you should tell the producers that you’re together before you film the next series?” 

 

The couple nod in unison, Barbara looking hopeful while Trixie merely looks put upon. 

 

“Well, Patsy and I confirmed the producers’ suspicions with an ‘epic snog,’ as the  _ Daily Mail  _ put it, but they’d started editing us in a romantic arc before we’d even discussed our feelings. I think whatever decision you two make, it will be on a much more solid foundation. Of course, everyone knows we’re together now, but I haven’t told them I’m getting married before we film again.” 

 

Trixie and Barbara pause their quarrel to shriek gleefully. 

 

“Oh, Delia, that’s wonderful! Congratulations! Did you ask her? Did she ask you? How long has it been?” 

 

Trixie, naturally, wants to know who will be wearing what and if they’re invited, and will there be bridesmaids, and do lesbian weddings involve the giving away of both parties or merely one? 

 

Delia lets them talk themselves out before attempting to answer. 

 

“Patsy proposed to me. I was as shocked as you are, given her thoughts on the matter, but she hasn’t shown the slightest indication of cold feet. She’s…. Incredible, honestly.” 

 

“You two really would be sickening if you weren’t so utterly lovely, I swear.” 

 

“I do have to note that neither one of you has posted about your betrothal on social media. Could it be,” Trixie glares pointedly at Barbara, “that you want to keep your private life private?” 

  
  


(Delia makes a mental note to thoroughly apologize to Sister Mary Cynthia for any discomfort that the great disagreement over correct loo roll orientation may have caused her.)

 

“We just want to get around to telling everyone in person first. It’s a weird mix with all the tv fans, you know. I’ll… let Pats know that I managed to speak to you two before our dinner date on Friday. Is that still on, or?” 

 

“Of course it is, don’t be silly,” Trixie admonishes. “I promise we’ll be in better sorts then, too, to properly celebrate you two.” 

 

Barbara’s not quite ready to stop pleading her case, however. 

 

“Okay, but Delia, did you see how on the American version of our show (which was utter rubbish, but that’s beside the point) the hosts were, in fact a married couple?” 

 

Delia nods, recalling vaguely the b list actor and actress who flailed their way through a Christmas special. 

 

“I would concede that the shortcomings in that program were the Americans themselves, rather than their marital status.” 

 

Trixie lifts a finger, interjecting. 

 

“But, they were married well before they booked the show. I fell in love with you over the course of four years and a million silly outfits.” 

 

Barbara blushes at the memories. 

 

“Do you think it’s possible anyone might have seen it before us?” 

 

Trixie grasps her hands, and now Delia feels entirely like a third wheel. 

 

“Darling, I don’t think I could have hid my adoration for you if I tried. No matter how ridiculous you looked.” 

 

Barbara beams, before wrinkling her brow in confusion. 

 

“Than what in the world is all this fuss about?” 

 

“I thought we might lose our jobs if the powers that be learned that we’re together. I mean, you saw how much vitriol Patsy and Delia got, and, no offense, Delia, but we sort of are the main attraction.” 

 

Delia’s grateful that she didn’t make a hasty exit as she stops Trixie from further descent into worst case scenarios. 

 

“It’s true that we got a few nasty messages, but pretty much any woman on the internet gets those nowadays, no matter who she chooses to sleep with. More importantly, we got messages from teenagers, from parents, who said that seeing us existing on their screens helped them come to terms with themselves and their families. You’ll make a gigantic difference if you choose to publicly come out. I mean that not as a pressure, but as an incentive.“ 

 

Barbara is openly weeping, as Trixie instinctively rubs her back. 

 

“I do like the idea of inspiring a younger generation, even if pundits begin joking that bread week turned us all gay.” 

 

“We’re not gay,” Barbara hiccups into Trixie’s shoulder, “We’re bisexual and sexually fluid, respectively.” 

 

“Yes, well, all the more reason to educate other, hmmm, sweetie?” 

 

Barbara nods, wiping her tears and gathering her composure. 

 

“And if the homophobes boycott bakes, it just means more for the rest of us.” 

 

“Atta girl,” Trixie whispers, kissing Barbara’s hair. 

 

“I… should probably actually go now,” Delia mutters, the reconciled lovers making no note of her exit. 

 

“See you Friday!” She calls, not waiting for a response before pulling out her mobile to text Patsy. 

 

_ you will NEVER guess the day i’ve had.  _

 

**_Don’t tell me that Phyllis conducted the meeting only in Spanish again._ **

 

_ oh no, not that, gracias a dios.  _

 

_ trix and babs are debating coming out… officially  _

 

**_Good for them! That’s thrilling!_ **

 

**_Oh, Delia._ **

 

**_You TOLD them, didn’t you?_ **

 

**_I suppose I’ll have to think of another surprise before Friday._ **

 

**_You don’t suppose they’ll fall for the pregnancy scare, do you?_ **

  
Delia smiles the whole journey home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY ENDINGS FOR EVERYONE 
> 
> may you all smooch whom you want to smooch in front of god n everybody


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cakes and Cuddling! 
> 
> (which could, quite frankly, summarise this entire series)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got a tumblr prompt about spooning and cuddling so here you go lol SORRY I'M SUCH A FUCKING SMARTASS.

“Never in a million years did I think I’d say this, but Patsy… I’m sick to death of spooning.” 

 

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you volunteered to make madeleines to send to Louise.” 

 

Delia pouts, and Patsy relents, pushing herself up off the couch to assist in the home stretch. 

 

“You know I feel bad that I can’t come with you to see the cakes. And she’s got a huge extended family! There must be enough to share- because, believe you me, these might be the most delicious thing I’ve ever made.” 

 

“You talk a big game, Busby,” Patsy teases, before dipping a finger into the batter to see for herself. 

 

“The orange zest  _ is  _ lovely… and is that a hint of rosemary at the end?” 

 

Delia, however, is too distracted by the sight of Patsy to provide a response.  She somehow manages to push through the last three madeleines and pops the tray hastily into the oven. 

 

“We’ve got fifteen minutes until they’re done. Might I defile you upon the couch until the timer sounds?” 

 

Patsy rolls her eyes. 

 

“You are a ridiculous human being.” 

 

“That wasn’t an answer, Pats.” 

 

“Absolutely.” 

_ 

 

Louise is gracious when Patsy informs her of Delia’s unexpected conflict, and beams at the sight of the dainty biscuits. 

 

“Oh, they’re just beautiful- and the grandkids are coming round tomorrow for tea. They all just loved Delia on the show, so they’ll be thrilled to know she made these.” 

 

“If I tell Delia that, she’ll be sending them souvenirs from all over the world next.” 

 

“She does have an exceptionally big heart, doesn’t she?” 

 

Patsy nods. 

 

“Especially where it concerns children.” 

 

God love her, Louise doesn’t immediately launch into an interrogation about when and where and how many children Delia might want to have. Instead, she pivots the brief silence into the task at hand: cake. 

 

“I know you requested the cake I made for the show, but I wanted to give you another option and well, I suppose I just missed being in the kitchen a bit, too.” 

 

The cakes are gorgeous- simple, understated, but undeniably elegant. 

 

Patsy is tempted to simply go along with her original plan, but it was Louise’s own wedding cake, and she also suspects that the woman probably spent a good amount of time devising recipes to fit her and Delia. 

 

The other cake is unexpected, atypical, and magnificent. Basil sponge with strawberry filling and balsamic reduction glaze. Bright, clear, and sweet. It tastes like seeing Delia for the first time felt. 

 

“Louse,” Patsy gushes, “I just might have to leave Delia for this cake.” 

 

The older woman laughs, eyes crinkling kindly. 

 

“I think perhaps the three of you can work out a suitable arrangement.” 

 

Their business seen to, she and Patsy move to the hearth, sipping on tea as the look at the fire. 

 

For all that the cake tastes of future summer ceremony, it’s difficult to ignore the damp winter chill around them. 

 

Louise tells a few stories about her grandchildren, her daughter’s first years after she married her husband, deftly opening the door for Patsy to open up about her and Delia’s plans- or lack thereof. 

 

“Is that strange- to get married without any plans for or against having children in the immediate future?” 

 

“I don’t especially like the word ‘strange,’’ Louise muses, “ but I don’t think that it’s uncommon. It sounds like your situation isn’t that one of you wants children and the other is dead-set against it.” 

 

Patsy shakes her head. 

 

“I’d guess that Delia’s associations with childhood are happier than mine, but it’s not like I wouldn’t  _ want  _ to raise a family with her. It’s just not anything I’ve ever remotely considered a possibility before. And I’d be perfectly thrilled to live a long and happy life as childless lesbians.” 

 

Louise smiles reassuringly before offering her own perspective. 

 

“I don’t often talk about it, but when I was a young woman, I very nearly became a nun. Visited convents, met with sisters, prayed ceaselessly. And ultimately, I felt more called to a secular life. But I strongly believe that had I made the other choice, I would have been just as happy and fulfilled as I am now.” 

 

Patsy’s a little too shocked to fully absorb Louise’s meaning, so she continues. 

 

“You see, sometimes, there is no right or wrong decision, simply one that must be made.” 

 

Patsy heaves a sigh of relief. 

 

“You’re honestly the first person who’s made it seem like procreation isn’t the deciding factor in a marriage’s success. And, no offence to all the well meaning adult figures in my life, but your shit is much more together.” 

 

Louise barks out a laugh at Patsy’s unexpected compliment. 

 

“I’ve met many people in my line of work. Sometimes people love each other, but they aren’t good for one another. I could tell from the get-go that you and Delia had something you don’t see every day. It’s been a joy to know you two, and to share in celebrating the life you’ve created together.” 

 

She pulls Patsy in for a warm hug, which the redhead gladly accepts. 

 

She may not be able to have her mother in the flesh at her wedding, but she will have the best found family anyone could ever ask for. 

 

_ 

 

When Patsy makes it back from Louise’s house, Delia is a lump on the couch, only bare feet visible beneath her heavy blanket. 

 

“Deels? Are you alright?” 

 

“Hnnngggggggggg,” the brunette groans. 

 

Patsy scrunches up her face in confusion before remembering the date. 

 

“Oh, bloody hell, I forgot you were due to start today. Should I ring Trixie and cancel dinner?” 

 

“Bloody is right,” comes the muffled response. “I think I can rally though, with enough painkillers. And maybe whisky.”

 

(Based on the acoustics, Delia is lying face down, curled into the cushions. She’s not getting up any time soon.) 

 

“That’s nonsense, I’m sure the won’t mind rescheduling…” she pulls out her mobile and shoots a quick apology to Trixie and Barbara, for good measure. 

 

As she’s heating a water bottle and procuring various menstrual remedies, she gets a response. 

 

“Delia? Trixie says she and Barbara have made up, and I quote, ‘ _ exceptionally well, sweetie,’  _ so they were running late anyhow. What do you say to Sunday brunch?” 

 

Delia pokes a head out of her fort to stick out her tongue. 

 

“That’s disgusting. I mean Trixie and Barbara, not brunch. Brunch is great. Well, so is lesbian sex, in theory, but, I still don’t want to know when my friends are fucking, you know? Although, I do hope their sex life is satisfactory, insofar as it needs to be for the health of their relationship.” 

 

Patsy plops down her supplies on the coffee table and squeezes between Delia and the back of the sofa.

 

“Shhh, quiet you. I have ice cream, paracetamol, and  _ Vicar of Dibley  _ queued up on Netflix.” 

 

She runs a soothing hand along Delia’s lower back as they move into a seated position, Delia leaning back against her chest to kiss her cheek. 

 

“That’s sort of a trip back, huh? What put you in mind?” 

 

“Louise sort of put me in a religious mood, I suppose.” 

 

Delia hums around a spoonful of pistachio. 

 

“Promise me you’ll tell me the story when I don’t feel like a gang of knife-wielding bandits is trying to escape through my uterus?” 

 

“Of course.” 

 

Patsy wraps her arms around Delia, letting her legs go numb as the brunette’s body goes heavy with sleep. 

 

The ice cream melts, and she ends up watching the easter special twice through an inability to reach the remote. 

  
Love, after all, is patient. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> all's well that ends well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I NEVER FORGOT U FIC, real life and the collapse of democratic norms just got in the way. 
> 
> I hope this ending is at least satisfactory, if not totally gratifying.

 

**“** Why did you let me do a hen night,” Delia groans into the pillow, burrowing into the covers. 

 

“Because you are a fully grown woman who is capable of making her own decisions, even if I would make different ones for myself?”  

 

Patsy smirks, before schooling her expression and offering a plate and mug to Delia. 

 

“What happened to no-hangover-busby, hmm?” 

 

“She went toe-to-toe with Phyllis Crane, and lost. Badly.” 

 

Delia takes a sip of her coffee, shivering joyfully as its heat reanimates her zombie corpse. 

 

“Oh god, I love you so fucking much, Patience Mount, I really, truly do.” 

 

“I suppose it’s a good thing we’re getting hitched today, then, huh?” 

 

Delia covers Patsy’s body with her own, resting her (much less pained now, thank you aspirin) head against a pale shoulder. 

 

“Mmmmm, or we could just lie in bed all day, text everyone, say, thanks but no thanks, do let’s get together some other time.” 

 

“Delia Busby, so help me god if you subject me to the wrath of your mother because you got pissed last night, we’ll be divorced before we’re wed.” 

 

“Fine, fine, I’ll get up. Eventually.” 

 

Patsy rolls her eyes, but plants a couple of kisses on Delia’s hairline anyhow. 

_ 

 

“Delia’s recovered nicely,” Trixie whispers in Patsy’s ear, pulling her aside for on-site makeup application. 

 

“Barbara told you?” 

 

“Told me? Sweetie, she took video. Delia did a one-woman SPICE Girls tribute and refused any assistance from the others. _ Karaoke Legend, that one.” _

 

“Have her send it to me. I need leverage every now and then. And it will be nice to have while she’s off filming.” 

 

“I can’t believe you’re not angry with her!” 

 

“For what?” 

 

“Being anything less than one hundred percent of sound mind and body on your wedding day.” 

 

Patsy shrugs, calmly applying a false eyelash. 

 

“We’ve got the rest of our lives to be married, Trixie, I don’t see why the first day is any more important than the others. This day is about everyone else.” 

 

“That was incredibly endearing,” Trixie mutters around her lipstick, “But if Barbara does the same thing to me I may spend my wedding night in prison for murder.” 

 

“Oh, so you want to get married now?” 

 

“THIS IS YOUR DAY, PATSY.” 

_

 

_ Knock, knock.  _

 

Delia turns toward the source of the interruption. 

 

“I thought we weren’t meant to see each other on our wedding day.” 

 

Dimples contradict her stern tone. 

 

“Didn’t you sort of spoil that by invading my bed? Besides, I hate to break this to you Deels, but we’re not exactly  _ traditional.”  _

 

“I can’t bring myself to argue there.” Delia leans in for a brief kiss, careful not to undo Trixie’s hard work. 

 

“It’s good I get a preview of you,” Patsy whispers,”or I just might faint outright, and that would really spoil my image, don’t you think?” 

 

“I’m the only one who’s allowed to see you all mushy.” 

 

Delia punctuates her sentiment with a squeeze to Patsy’s bum. 

 

“Enough of that, or we’ll never make it down the aisle.” 

 

Delia accepts Patsy’s offered hand, and they make their way towards the gathered guests. 

 

“I’m just glad it’s not raining. Everything else is really icing on the proverbial cake, don’t you think?” 

 

_

 

If Mrs. Busby has objections to her daughter and her bride walking down the aisle hand-in-hand, she manages to contain them until she’s safe among church gossips, far from sensitive ears. 

 

Phyllis reads a truly moving selection of poetry, her own strident voice breaking with affection for the women before her. 

 

Barbara sings “Songbird,” and there’s not a dry eye in the house. 

 

It’s a fitting completion of the full circle, standing in front of friends and family on a grassy lawn on a summer’s day (though this time, there are thankfully, no film crews). 

 

“You are the bravest, smartest, strongest, kindest person I have ever known, Patience Mount. You make me want to do hard things and make this world better than I’ve found it. Mine is so much better for finding you, and I cannot wait to greet each morning with you by my side.” 

 

(Well shit. Patsy really should have given her vows first. Can one still say “I do” if they’re rendered speechless?) 

 

“I am so very grateful to my colleagues who pressured me to audition for that ‘silly baking show on the telly’, as my warden calls it. I may have taught myself how to laminate dough and bake a meringue, but you, Delia Busby, taught me how to open my heart. It turns out to be more difficult than baklava, and no less messy, but entirely more worthwhile an effort. For all that I lack in grand speeches and public displays, I will make up for with ten thousand days of loving you better with each morning that comes. I would move to America for you.” 

 

The crowd gasps, audibly. 

 

“Oh, we aren’t moving,” Delia corrects, hastily. 

 

“That was more meant as a sign of my undying devotion. Apologies for causing a slight panic,” Patsy explains. 

 

“Let me try again. I will be kinder, braver, and yes, even more patient for you, because I know that I will never again face this world alone.” 

 

Phyllis beams upon them as they exchange bands. 

 

“I’d say these brides can kiss, eh?” 

 

The modest crowd erupts in applause as they recreate their infamous outing. 

 

(Though, let the record show, it’s Delia that grabs Patsy by the lapel this time, damn near lifting her off the ground.) 

 

_

 

“I know we’re supposed to have amazing sex on our wedding night, but fuck, I’m  _ exhausted,”  _ Patsy moans, slipping off her pumps and leaning on the wall to survey their dancing guests. 

 

“It’s not like we’ve got plans for tomorrow, Pats. Let’s duck out of here early, have amazing hotel bed sleep, and I’ll wake you up in the morning with my mouth.” 

 

“Jesus Christ, I love you, woman.” 

 

Delia wraps an arm around her waist, guiding them clandestinely toward the car park, stopping on the way for a double-take. 

 

“Is that Patrick and Shelagh dancing together?” 

 

Patsy pouts, nodding approvingly. 

 

“They could totally rebrand the franchise as a matchmaking venture-  _ Bake it or Break it.  _ ” 

 

_ “Bake my Wife”  _

 

_ “Matchmaker/ Batchbaker.”  _

 

_ “Unbake my Heart”  _

 

_ “Bready or Knot”  _

 

“I’ll give my notes to the network,” Delia giggles, as they finally escape from the throng, into the rest of their lives. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i need to be honest with y'all... I finished this fic mainly so i could start a SPICE GIRLS/girl group AU that i'm really excited about. So, if you're bummed this AU is over, you've got that to look forward to... 
> 
> as always, my introvert ass loves communicating via tumblr @blueblue-baby

**Author's Note:**

> comments are always muchly appreciated! props to @giginutshell for middle name suggestion :D


End file.
